Snow and Winter
by WhamBamWrites
Summary: Before April 3rd, Jane Gilmore lived a nice life in 1969 Memphis. Her health was ailing, but she was loved. Then, the death of everything she knew safe and secure. As a Hydra super-soldier, she must find a way to survive. Maybe even seek comfort in the first soldier. After his escape from Hydra during the events of Winter Soldier, Bucky searches for the last puzzle of his life. Her
1. Help!

**Chapter One: Help!**

 _Repeat after me._

"Your name is Jane Lois Gilmore." A flat voice told the tawny skinned girl, shining a bright white light into her eyes as music played from a tinny radio somewhere close by, somehow sounding so distant.

"My name is Jane Lois Gilmore." Her voice didn't sound like it belonged to her. This voice was cold and lifeless. It was clueless and horrified. This wasn't the voice of the girl who had been happily surrounded by her family just. . . days ago? Weeks? It was hard to say. Hard to know. Hard to figure out the difference between nightmare and terrifying reality.

"You are nineteen years old." The doctor's face wasn't a familiar one. Pale, sharp features and a short, low ponytail of auburn hair. Her eyes shifted between muddy brown and moss green with each flick of the light into Jane's eyes.

"I am nineteen years old." Through the confusion, she took these facts in like air. Cradled them, the last remaining bits of her that she knew to be true.

"You were from Memphis."

"I was from Memphis." _Was?_

"You were quadriplegic from a disease you were born with. Neurothrompic Degenerative Disease."

Jane repeated, her mouth moving in a calculated fashion but her head spinning around and around and around— _stop._ Focus. _Focus._ She hung onto the words playing from the radio as if they were the only things keeping her head above poisoned waters.

 _Help me get my feet back on the ground. . ._

 _Won't you please, please help me?_

"Jane. . ." The woman shook Jane's shoulder.

 _And now my life has changed in oh so many ways_

 _My independence seems to vanish in the haze_

Memories bubbled up to the surface—her older brother— Jesse was his name—sauntering into the Gilmore family's small, happy residence with a new record clutched underneath his arm and a big smile shining on his face. "Sis!" He'd exclaim, holding up the _Beatles_ record. "Look what I've got. Isn't it exciting? And it just came out, too. Really, I'm probably the first person in all of Memphis to get my hands on a jewel like this. Oh, and it was a bag, too." At his overwhelming excitement, Jane had rolled her eyes and pretended to be asleep, barely shutting her eyes before Jesse ruffled her hair and went upstairs, humming the tune of one of his favorite songs.

"Jane!" When she finally resurfaced, she wasn't even sure if she had remembered their faces. She was only sure that the swelling of her heart when she thought of her family meant that she loved them so dearly. More than she could put into words.

"Shall we continue?" The doctor snapped. Jane nodded.

"Your brother Jesse was the owner of a relatively successful hotel."

With a fondness, Jane repeated, not paying attention to the troublesome _was._

"Your father, Kurt, was a music producer, and made a nice living for your family."

 _I remember._ He played piano better than Beethoven, I would think, serenading Mom and then bringing his artists over to play in Jesse's hotel in downtown Memphis. He never let down any of us. Not his ambitious son, his caring wife, or his crippled daughter.

"Your mother, Marlene, stayed home to look after you."

Jane had her hazel eyes and her smile.

"And one week ago, on April third, a gas explosion destroyed the house, killing everyone inside," the faint smile dropped of Jane's face. "And leaving you the only survivor." No. _No. No!_ Jane didn't dare repeat those words. That wasn't right. Wasn't _fair._

She wrestled against the bonds holding her wrists down. "Stop. Stop talking. Stop telling me lies." The leather bonds were tight and strong, but somehow, Jane was stronger. The leather began to tear, the redhaired doctor's eyes widen, and she slipped farther from the tawny-skinned girl in a hospital gown. "Let me go! I want to see my family! Let me go!" She screamed, sitting up as the leather bonds broke.

The doctor spoke fast into her coat lapel, but Jane worked at the leather bonding at her ankles quicker, tossing the bedsheet off her freezing body with the ferocity of a starved animal. _Mom, Dad, Jesse. . . I'm coming._

However, it seemed gravity had other plans. As soon as she slid weight onto her feet, they didn't know what to do with it, crashing her into the freezing white tile. "No. . ." she croaked, crawling on her belly to the door, which opened. As she slowly made her way to the door, a pair of black boots in front of her stood in her path.

Jane once more whimpered a feeble "No," as the body connected to the boots pressed a syringe into her neck, plunging her down into darkness.

* * *

Jane awoke thrashing like the sea, feeling as though gunpowder had been injected into her veins; riling her up and poisoning her all at once. She was by her lonesome in the grey room with four yellow lights shining dimly in each corner of the room. Well, she was almost by herself. As her vision returned, she saw a man sitting on a stool, back hunched and head resting on his hand while he looked at a movie projected onto the wall.

"I don't like that movie." She croaked. _Pandora and the Flying Dutchman?_ Yuck.

" _That_ is the first thing you have to say to me?" His voice had a humoring tone despite the overlying sadness it held. "That you don't like the movie I'm watching? Aren't you just a doll." He turned around, revealing shockingly handsome features. Straight black eyebrows and onyx hair in the slick, Prince Charming style many men were wearing in this era.

One thing set him apart from most everyone else, however. The sterling metal arm shining on his left side is. . . attention grabbing, to say the least. He moves it with ease, as though he was born with the thing.

His deep set greyish brown eyes were startling, with him looking at you even with a smile and still feeling like he's peeking at your soul. "Where's the redhead woman?" Jane demanded, taking her eyes off his. "Where's my family?"

"Hey, hey," the man walked forward, hands flat at his sides. Jane caught her breath, closing her eyes and bracing her lithe body. "I don't really know, but, I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?" Jane hesitated to tell the stranger, and when she refused to meet his gaze yet again, he sighed. "Well, I'm James Buchanan Barnes. But people call me Bucky." When she opened her eyes, he flashed a smile, but it was so easily seen to be hiding tragic secrets and stories he keeps at bay.

Shoving down her doubt and fear, Jane responded quietly. "Jane Gilmore. Where am I?"

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know if I can answer that." He started to pace. "I don't know that I _should_ answer." A number of confused emotions flashed before his face, until he shook his head and looked up at me. "Ok, I'm not gonna."

"Why?" She seethed. Why were only half-truths being fed to her? "Because your owners wouldn't like it? Are you someone's dog or are you someone I can trust?" Because, oh, God, would she love someone to trust right about now.

The man shook his head again, flicking his gaze over his shoulder constantly until he rushed forward suddenly. "I'm sorry, OK? This is Hydra. You're a super-soldier now. Literally one of two kinds. You'll have great abilities and you'll love your life as long as you do what they ask." Living a life under someone else's rules didn't seem like a very loveable life. "And you better," Bucky's voice turned low and desperate. "Because it's a long, long life."

Something in his eyes told Jane that he hadn't quite adjusted to loving this—super-soldier life.

When the door clicked open the next second, Bucky went back to his position by the entrance, one hand behind his back and his other hand above his head in a salute. The familiar Nazi salute that Jane had seen in historical movies and textbooks alike. _Oh, God. . . no._ "Sir." Bucky greeted to the man, who nodded, signaling for Bucky to drop the salute before he came over.

God, this man resembled a hawk so closely Jane thought he might sprout feathers any second. His beady black eyes, his sharp cheekbones, his buzzed grey hair and his strong jaw fitted with a tall, strong body in a black military uniform. "Ms. Gilmore, allow me to introduce myself," said the hawkish man with a hoarse voice. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Major General Boyd, but please, call me General Boyd. I'll be training you from now on."

"But, I. . . I don't know where I am," she whispered, struggling to keep tears from running down her face. "I hardly know who _I_ am. And moving feels weird, and walking. . . I can't do it, and. . ." Jane's efforts proved useless as she broke into sobs, hanging her head as the storm-thunder cloud of shame and anger rolled over her head.

She quieted herself only seconds later, when she felt the General's calloused finger down her cheek. "Don't worry, young woman. The memories will come later. The strength that you missed in your past life will come later." He spoke with such spitting vigor and fire in his eyes, Jane almost felt empowered. Instead, the beating of her heart coming from her stomach alerted her to being scared. "For now," he cooed, taking his hand down the length of her hair with a sick smile. "Welcome to Hydra, Soldier Gilmore."

* * *

 **Author Note:**

Hi! I haven't done this in a while, I hope it's good. Please, please, leave a comment, they make my day. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll have another chapter out from Bucky's POV in the future. . . ooh. Hahaha, thank you again.


	2. Have You Seen Her?

**Chapter Two: Have You Seen Her?**

"Sir, you are holding up the line. Order, or get out!" The French man shouted, the line behind his cart stretching by the second. Bucky Barnes wasn't here for any pastries or coffee, though. He wanted information. He wanted to learn.

"No, no, you don't understand." He said through gritted teeth. People had gotten more and more annoying in the past few decades, it seemed. "I don't want to order—"

"Then get out!"

"I want to ask you about a girl. She came through here. . ." He remembered what the man in Lyon had said. "She came through here in nineteen ninety-nine. The man I asked said he saw her get tea from your cart. Do you know if she was with anyone? If she was hurt, or if she was doing anything?" It was a long, desperate reach, but Bucky was a desperate person by now. He had to see her. He had to.

The cart owner squinted, as if to say, _how stupid are you?_ "Son, if the last time you saw this girl was in the nineties, you need to go search for someone else. Paris has tons of pretty girls. I believe that you may find one in this very line considering it now holds half of this city's population!"

Unphased, Bucky brought out one of his most precious items, tucked into the folds of his jean pocket was his only picture of the girl that to the world had stopped existing one day. To him, had never. Would never.

She was about to go to bed, with her black Hydra jacket sliding down her shoulders and her boots unlaced by the door. In the mirror she watched herself in, she smiled at the photographer with a dazzling look, one Bucky hoped to never forget. Freckles dotted her nose over her golden honey skin and her wildly curly chestnut hair was tied by a black ribbon into a low ponytail. Everything about her was real. Sensational, even at its worst.

The cart owner took a brief glance at the picture. "Son, I don't remember every face. Sometimes I hardly look a customer in the eye. Now, _you_ I will remember—" Bucky finished his sentence for him, rolling his head back and putting away her photo.

"Because I'm holding up the line, I got it. If you truly can't help me, I'll be going then. Bye." Finally, he shuffled out of line, basically hanging his tail between his legs. _I failed you. I'm sorry._ All these travels, all these efforts, and she was just gone. Again, no less.

"But, son," the man called out one last time. "If you want someone with a better memory than me, Barthelemy Signoret is your guy— _coffee? Right away, madam—_ go to Montparnasse Station in Montparnasse, and find the man in a bowler hat and a bowtie reading _Les Miserables_. That is all I can do for you, son." With that parting bit of information, he waved Bucky away and onto the warm Parisian streets, in search of a new lead.

It didn't matter how hard it was—if it led to her, it'd be worth it.

So, he hailed a taxi and hopped in, his mind wandering to other relationships that he tried to piece together day by day. Lord, there were many. Only a handful were worth remembering.

There was her, of course—the young woman that had blessed his life for as many years as she was in it.

Then, there was the blonde man who caused an ache in Bucky's head whenever he thought of him—sometimes he appeared with a mask and a shield, sometimes in a military with his blue eyes gazing adoringly at a lovely brunette dame. Other times, his hair was floppy, his body was scrawnier than the mice hiding in his cupboard, and his clothes were that of a poor, 1920s working boy. His face, shrinking away as Bucky fell—

 _No._

Then, the many ladies who'd crossed his path before he met her. None had particularly mattered until her, but he could still remember each of their pretty faces, hair in victory curls and dresses elegant.

" _Merci,"_ he payed the taxi driver in cash and left the car, on his way into the station when he saw them. The same faces from last year—the dark-skinned man with wings and undeniable dedication. No redhead spy whom Bucky shared a history with, but there was the blue eyed Steve Rogers.

And no matter how fast he ran, Bucky knew those blue eyes would lock onto him and track him down. _No. Not before I find her._ Using advantage of the thick crowd, he picked up his pace from mediocre to a quick walk, trying to evade his pursuers with as much passion as they were trying to find him.

It didn't help that at the same time, he was trying to find this Mr. Signoret, in a bowler hat and bowtie. There didn't seem to be any sign of him in this damned train station. Panicking, Bucky looked back, checking his pursuers. Standing a foot taller than the entire crowd, Steve instantly noticed, his eyes widening and his pace quickening into a careless sprint. "Buck? Bucky! Wait, wait!"

Oh, God. No, no, no, no. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. Not like this—not right now.

And there he was, Barthelemy, reading _Les Miserables_ , not even looking up from his book while commotion blistered around him. Bucky would never make it, though. Steve and the other one would catch up to him by then.

His only option would set him back a bit.

But not doing anything would take him out of the game.

Bursting through the crowd, Bucky jumped through the opening of a train just as the doors gently closed, leaving Steve breathless and desperate at the threshold. "Bucky! Stop!" He yelled, only to watch Bucky escape the window's watch to the back of the train, not even sure where he was going. Positive he wasn't safe. Knowing he wouldn't rest until he'd found her. Until he'd found Jane.

* * *

 **Hi, thanks for reading. Please leave a comment, and I will have a chapter out soon!**


	3. Ring of Fire

**Chapter Three: Ring of Fire**

Six days in the underground Hydra facility and Jane was already walking out of bed to retrieve her breakfast from the arms of Bucky, the first super soldier here at Hydra. "Why isn't there a doctor here to monitor me? Were you a doctor. . . before. . .?" Before Hydra stole your life and identity and turned you into their lethal pet?

"No, no," Bucky smirks. "I was a regular soldier. In the army, during World War Two. Before that, I had odd jobs. Window washing, car washing, once I was a cook at a hotel—"

"You cook?" Jane's hot plate holds a square of hashbrown casserole with brown rice and a cup of water. She can remember Mama pulling her up to the table and serving hashbrown casserole—a Tennessee must—and kissing her cheek.

General Boyd said he'd take Jane's memories away, if she wanted, or if she needed. Now, she's thinking she might need to if everything reminds her of the home that she lost.

The strong, wolfish man quirked his eyebrow. "Well, that's the thing. _I_ thought my banana bread drizzled with chocolate syrup was delicious, but every person I served it to said it was revolting and that they would rather drink a glass of water from the Marilao River in the Philippines than eat another crumb." He crossed his arms over his chest, feigning distress. "It really hurt my feelings."

"Anyway, I'm in here because they want us to be friends." He jerked his chin towards the camera in the right corner of the room. "They're still monitoring us if necessary. Like, if you collapse or suddenly have a reaction of the serum in your veins." Ugh. Jane still couldn't wrap her head around how Hydra had salvaged her dying body from the wreck of her home, then injected her with some sci-fi serum to make her big and strong. It was gross just to think about.

"Right." She ate the food on her plate. It was too salty, the hashbrowns mushy, the sausage cold. Yeah, this was definitely the product of a Hydra kitchen, not a Memphis diner. "It must've been lonely, being here by yourself for twenty-four years. Friendless."

"I had a purpose," Bucky spouted, his voice more robot than man. "That was enough. And here at Hydra, you might find an honorable purpose as well." _Honorable? My father almost lost an arm going against Nazis—the same Nazis whose ideals run through this organization. My mother lost both her brothers and her first fiancée during the Invasion of Normandy. Nothing this place fights for could be honorable._

Furious thoughts boiled through Jane's head, but that glaring camera reminded her to keep her mouth shut. "Of course," she responded sweetly, putting the plate aside, no longer hungry.

"Excuse me." Bucky said, turning away. Jane noticed the black wire that connected from his ear to under the grey collar of his shirt. When he turns back around, a painful expression graces his face. "They want. . ." he mutters, wincing. "They want me to train you, since we have a mission coming up in two weeks."

"Ok. . ."

"Combat training, Jane—" He cut off quickly as more noise filled his ear. "I don't think you're ready."

"And I don't care. Come on, Buck. _Train me._ " No matter the disgusting situation, nothing could deter the happiness Jane felt when she felt the cold tile under her toes, or the rough texture of a brick wall with her palm. _Feeling_ with her four extremities sent a shiver through her spine. Doing anything she could with them excited her.

When they landed at the "Sparring Center" General Boyd was there, amongst other suited military generals who probably had only sent young boys and men to die before they could set foot on a battle field. His hawkish gaze landed only on Jane, escorted into the dim, damp room by Bucky, who seemed more panicked than the girl who had just began to walk.

They walked into the area that had been circled in white on the black tile floor for sparring. Jane almost wondered if it would erupt in flames and swallow her whole - her personal, deadly ring of fire.

"Soldier Gilmore," General Boyd quieted the room with two loud words that sent shivers down Jane's spine. "Pleased to see you up and about. Now, today, I was just hoping to observe what you're capable of in the early stages of having the super soldier serum through your veins." He turned around quickly, directing everyone into a large chamber in the side of the room protected by two armed guards and thick glass.

Above that glass chamber was another, one filled with people in lab coats, clipboards and pens in their hands. Jane recognized the auburn-haired woman who had told her that her family had perished.

"Soldier Barnes, lead her into position and explain the rest." The general said, back up into the room as the glass doors shut and he explained to his military peers what was about to happen, while Jane herself had to clue.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." Bucky directed, snapping her attention forward.

"I've never fought anyone in my life, Bucky," she hissed. "I've never so much as stepped on someone's toes. How am I—I can't—" _I'm going to die,_ she thought with dead sureness. And looking at the black-haired soldier against Jane—a tiny, skinny girl who seemed deeply malnourished. . . you would've laughed and wondered why waste time on fighting her to bring her down when a mild wind could've sent her tumbling.

"It's OK. These people—" Bucky looked up with steely eyes at the generals and scientists observing them like lab rats. "They don't learn. The last five who sparred ruthlessly against before they even had a week to get used to the serum ended up dead a month later."

"Very encouraging. . ." She muttered, turning her gaze to her boot-clad feet before Bucky's finger was lifting her chin and her eyes back to him.

He spoke quickly, but determined. "I'm not going to let that happen. You'll be OK. I'll go easy and I'll coach you. Do you trust me?"

For a second, Jane wondered where she'd be without all the wonderful people who helped her through everything—her NDD, her attempts at a normal life where people didn't see the wheelchair first—and prayed that Bucky could be an addition to those kind faces.

"I don't see why not." She said, watching a tiny smile blossom on Bucky's pale face.

Just in time, too. General Boyd's commanding voice boomed through speakers a second later. "Commence in three. . ."

Bucky took a step back, whispering, "Go for my legs, Ok?"

"Two. . ."

Jane nodded, tucking a strand of curly brown hair into the bun on top of her head. "One. Go!" Immediately, Bucky lunged, wrapping his arms around her neck and sending a knee straight into Jane's unprepared gut.

Rather than prepare for more, she sank to the ground, moaning with tears in her eyes. "Oh, God. . . please, no. . ." When Bucky brought her up to her feet again, he brought his forearm across her throat, pressing down with strength Jane couldn't even dream of matching.

"I can't fake them out. We'll both just be punished. Now, go for my legs." He hissed.

"What— _argh_. . ." Jane caught his knee in the side of her ribs. Fueled by pain, she returned to rather barbarian modes of defense—biting the man's finger. His grip loosened just enough for her to turn and usher a front kick to between Bucky's legs.

Groaning, but with a small smirk on his face, Bucky sank to his knees. " _Legs,_ Gilmore."

"Sorry." She peeped, throwing a roundhouse to the side of Bucky's face, feeling more power than she had ever felt in her entire life. Even Bucky turned back, confusion on his face and blood coming from his cheek. "What the—"

Quick as light, Bucky had gotten back up, lunging forward and crashing Jane into the floor. "Ok," he muttered, his face inches from hers as he once again laid an arm across her throat in a suffocating fashion. "End it here. Punch me to the ground and don't let me come back up."

"I can't—"

"You will." He said, nodding, allowing Jane to bring her legs up around his waist, turning the conveniently limp Bucky onto the ground and sending her fists flying into his face, the surge of adrenaline keeping her moving but the fear and disgust inside her keeping her eyes closed. She didn't stop, not until her hands went numb.

Finally, she opened her eyes a crack to see Bucky.

His entire face was just blood. Pouring down his broken nose, out of cuts on his cheeks and jaw. Across his eyebrow.

It was all Jane could to scramble a few feet away from Bucky before the entire contents of her breakfast escaped her stomach, leaving her tawny skin crawling and her black eyebrows knotted together. "Soldier Gilmore, stand." General Boyd's hoarse voice commanded. In fear of further punishment, she stood, her throat bruised and eyes unwilling to look back to the bloody body of Bucky.

"Quite the outstanding performance, I see." He muttered, a hand touching the bruises on her neck.

"T-Thank you sir. I j-just—" A force like a speeding train knocked Jane to the ground, and as the white spots cleared from her vision, she realized it was the hand of the general, who looked at her with beady, bothered eyes.

"Soldier Gilmore, you should know two things: I don't like people tampering with my work, as you did today."

"Sir?"

"Don't play dumb," his voice was level as he fixed his cufflinks. "I know you and Barnes struck up a deal. And secondly, I don't like fools who think they can get away with lying to me, _so_ what we aren't going to do is let you go unpunished. Do you understand?" Too scared to even move, Jane could only whisper a quiet, "Yes, sir."

General Boyd smiled coldly, kneeling to come eye-to-eye with her. "Good. I do like you, Jane. Don't make me throw those feelings aside and do something neither of us want to happen. Clear?" Breathing shallowly, Jane nodded, trying not to recoil with the general's calloused fingers along the curve of her cheek.

"Take Soldier Barnes away, will you, Doc?" The auburn haired woman comes downstairs, accompanied by a bulky guard. "Fix him up, but don't give him the anesthesia. I want him to feel his punishment."

"As always, sir." The redhead woman leads Bucky away, grinning. His stark, wolfish grey eyes lock on Jane as he's carried away. She doesn't notice in her terror, but there's a hint of a smile there.

The other soldier comes forward. He's dark-skinned, wearing his light brown hair in coily twisted curls. When his black eyes catch mine, I feel as dignified as a rat. "What of this one, sir." Jane presses her hands together, but they still shake. "What would you like I do?"

General Boyd gives me another hawkish glare, then turns. "Get her tied up in her room. Keep her there until I give a signal to release her." An instant after the order was given, the guard latches onto her wrists, securing them with cold wire and dragging her sob-racked body into her room, hanging her there.

"Please. . . Please!" The guard doesn't even look back. Just slams the door shut as the room encloses into black, Jane's only comfort being her freedom to sob into the welcoming arms of darkness.


	4. Seas the Moment

**Seas the Moment**

Bucky was cursing under his breath as he stuffed clothes in a burgundy backpack, tossing a hat over his messy black hair that had grown to his jaw. He couldn't stay in France anymore, no, not with Steve searching for him. He hadn't even slept the night after running from them at the train station, too distressed over missed opportunities with Mr. Signoret and too anxious that even the phantom noise of footsteps make Bucky jerk up in bed.

Where to next?

Milan? Prague? Dallas? How far did Bucky have to travel before he found Jane? Or, how long did he have to travel before he realized he needed to move on. For a second, he paused his rushed packing. _Jane wouldn't want this for me._ Heck, _Bucky_ didn't want this for him. He didn't want to live a half life because the person with the other half was nowhere to be found.

But if it was one more plane trip or twenty more, if he found her. . . well, it'd be more than worth it.

Full of reassured determination, Bucky packed up his last shirt, tucked his wallet in his back pocket, and headed off. Before he left, he had one more stop to go. One more person to assist him.

He got into a taxi while the moon was still up and hopped out behind a restaurant. He climbed through a hole in the fence, looking around. Crickets were the only sound in the deserted land. "You can come out now." Bucky called into the air. "Praying mantis."

As if slingshotted from the stars, a redhead woman appeared from above. Her green eyes glared at Bucky with half amusement, half hatred. "The codeword was _grasshopper,_ Barnes." She walks forward, a packet under her arm.

"Well, Nat, you know my memory has been spotty lately." A lot more than lately, actually.

She sighed. "Yeah, I don't care. I don't even approve of your little worldwide trek for this Janice Gilbert—"

"Jane Gilmore."

"I don't care. Steve should know," Nat argued. As she did every time since they'd run into each other in Puerto Rico, and instead of being brought in, Bucky had laid out his situation and begged her to provide intel in exchange for allowing Natasha to bring Bucky in when he finished, and for her to keep tabs on him, making sure he didn't cause trouble. "You might not know, but he's your best friend. He'd die for you." And Bucky was pretty sure he'd almost died for him. Anyways, every time Natasha brought this up. None of them had they been worth Bucky's time.

"He won't understand."

"You know, you shot someone I was protecting _through_ me." Natasha shoved the package under her arm into Bucky's chest. "And now I'm going behind the backs of every intelligence agency who's keeping an eye on my back to deliver you some files about your ex. You're persuasive."

Bucky took a quick peak inside the files, more graceful to have Nat on his side then he could put into words. "No, I'm _pitiful_ , and you're susceptible to pitiable people." He put the package inside his backpack while Natasha nodded guiltily. "What did you find this time?"

"Personal information about her life before Hydra. They'd been keeping tabs on her for a year before—"

"I know." He sure didn't need reminding. "Thank you, Natasha. I can't tell you how much this means to me." Neither of them were much for hugs, so a simple nod would do. Except, for what Natasha didn't love with touch, she smothered with words.

"Thank me by getting this over with." She grumbled, climbing the fence and preparing to leap back into whatever mysterious place she came from. Before the battered, black-haired man could part with her, though, the redhead spy turned back. "Bucky."

"Yeah?"

Her tone lost all of it's aggravated humor. "Don't play around with this. I can't promise you'll like what you'll see."

Bucky shrugged, continuing on his walk out of the city of light. "I don't expect to. Not until I find Jane."

* * *

The man had walked miles, miles, miles, and more miles until he was at a forest where an invisible line amongst the flora and fauna marked the border of France and Spain. Once crossed, he'd go to where Girona met the seas and find the Sedan Bridge yacht named _Seas the Moment_ , because Natasha just had a golden sense of humor.

From there, he could go to Valencia, ask around for that little girl from so many years ago, probably a woman with years of age now, if she was still alive. If that failed, he was on his way inland to Toledo, to look for the man named Espinosa, though he was only called _el Vidente._ The Seer.

Before Shield broke apart, they claimed he was an agent who had gone mad; claimed to be able to see where everyone is, dead or alive. Bucky wasn't a small bit ashamed to say he believed in the supernatural, either. If this ex-agent could tell him where Jane was, he didn't care if the man used a crystal ball. As long as he didn't say she was dead.

As expected, the boat with shining gold lettering saying _Seas the Moment_ appeared under the light of Bucky's flashlight. "Don't crash, don't crash, don't crash. . ." He murmured, taking the keys from the package Nat had given him and sending the boat off into the black waters. It'd been a while since he'd gotten his hands on a boat; he didn't ride them often.

However, his least favorite mode of transportation was by train, for obvious reason. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures.

In what seemed like no time, he went from watching the coast of Spain shift around until it became Valencia, a city with so many memories. . . it was sort of the beginning of the end, as Bucky saw it. Most of the memories were sickening, but it was also where Bucky had realized for the first time, how in love he was with Jane. And what he'd do for her.

And then. . .

 _Stop. Reminiscing won't fix anything,_

He docked his boat and leapt out onto the beach, grateful for the cover of night as he scrambled into the city, camouflaging with the other people on the streets of the city, drinks and their loved one's hands in their grasps. None of these people could possibly know. . . their faces too young or betraying them as tourists. He needed to go deeper, past the shimmer and shine of the oceanfront resorts and restaurants.

Frustrated, Bucky pulled himself under the shade of a grocery store, thinking long and hard. _If_ I _can't figure this out. . . how would Jane do this? How would she think?_

The realization hit him like a bag of bricks. Of course. . . she'd go to where it all began.

Like fire was licking his heels, he picked up his pace, running behind Parc Gulliver, where the tiny apartment where the Arzamendia family had been all the way back in 1969 lay inside a red building. Rising up the stairs as the sun rose in the sky, he came to same place he'd been years ago, with a shaking Jane at his side and a loaded gun in his hand. A mission poisoning his head.

Apartment 308. The faded white door was now a new, polished salmon pink. Sucking in a breath, he knocked. And waited. Waited. Waited. Until— a man appeared, likely in his mid-sixties. With a thick Spanish accent and tongue, he spoke. "Aye! I don't wanna buy what your selling, gringo. And I don't wanna give you directions either, so. . . so. . ." His eyes gradually widened as he surveyed the face of the young man who'd been at his door decades ago. Still the same face.

"What in the devil. . ."

"If I may have a moment of your time," it didn't take a moment for Bucky to remember his name. After all this time, he still never forgot the dozens of names belonging to those whose lives he took or ruined. "Rubén. I won't take long at all." When the man—his black hair that had evaded the bald spots now streaked with grey, his olive skin covered in wrinkles—didn't move, Bucky gently forced his way through the threshold.

"I am sorry, Mr. Arzamendia. I only want to ask a few questions—"

" _How are you alive!"_ The man's voice shook and screamed so loudly, Bucky might've feared he'd bring the voice down. "Forty-eight years! I saw you forty-eight years ago! How did you not age a day!"

Holding his hands out towards the man from Bucky's past, Bucky talked in calm, easy Spanish. "When you saw me, you also saw a girl. She looked like this." Slowly, he took her picture from his back pocket in his wallet, holding it forward.

Rubén took tiny steps forward, glaring at it. "I recognize her, yes." He nodded, mostly to himself as he backtracked into the kitchen, acting like the cabinets were protective from the soldier from the man's childhood.

"Do you know where your sister is, so that I can ask her a question about this girl—" Bucky's voice caught in his throat when the man lunged forward, a pistol pointed between Bucky's black eyes. The man's hands weren't even shaking. Only pure determination in his eyes. A hunger for vengeance Bucky was all too familiar with.

He laughed, cold and calloused. "I'll tell you all about my sister, _diablo._ You may have questions, but I have a story." He shoved the barrel into Bucky's chest, forcing him into a dusty lime green chair. "And you're going to listen."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this chapter of Snow and Winter! In the next chapter, everything about Jane, Bucky, and the Arzamendia family is explained out in 1969 time. I would like to thank my beta reader, SpiderParker7, and ask you all to go follow her account. They'll be uploading a Stranger Things fanfiction soon, and it's going to be amazing. Please leave a comment, favorite, and follow. Thank you!**


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